


when baking chocolate chip cookies.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [9]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 08:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: He can be lighthearted sometimes, too.





	when baking chocolate chip cookies.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.

Apparently, he'd lost a bet. Akechi had no idea how he, specifically, got wrapped up in it, but here he was. And there Akira was. Standing in front of him in a maid outfit, blank-faced, looking a little less smug than usual. Akechi couldn't say much about it. Didn't even know what he was looking at, if he was to be completely honest. Honesty wasn't his forte anyway, so he supposed it didn't much matter.

Clearing his throat, Akechi rested his elbows on the counter and tried to think of something, anything, to say. Annoying, how he usually wound up speechless around Akira Kurusu. This, however, was at least a situation wherein words might fail almost anyone.

The best he could come up with was, “Remind me how this happened, again?”

Akira sighed. Fidgeted with the headpiece settled haphazardly atop his curls.

“Ryuji made a bet that Morgana couldn't possibly eat ten rolls of sushi all by himself. I was the only one who bet that he could.”

“This, without telling Morgana, of course.”

“Of course. Anyway, as the loser, I'm supposed to bring cookies to the others dressed like a maid. They're waiting at Sojiro's.”

“Then aren't you dressed...a little early?”

A shrug.

“I need to take pictures of myself baking the cookies. Blackmail, I think.”

Ah. So even friends blackmailed each other. Interesting.

“And...you called me because...?”

Akira held up a camera. “Need you to take the pics.”

“...Right.”

Akechi took the camera into his hands and turned it over and over, examining it. It looked pretty expensive.

“Borrowed it from Futaba,” Akira explained, perhaps reading the question on Akechi's face. “She wants to download the evidence in HD.”

Sojiro had apparently given the okay to borrow Leblanc's oven—naturally, without being informed of the maid outfit stipulation. He was out for the day anyway, since he didn't feel like opening the cafe on that particular Sunday morning. Said he had people to meet. Places to see. Or so Akira claimed. Akechi wouldn't have been surprised if Sojiro knew about the whole thing and laughed his head off at Akira's expense.

An array of ingredients were spread out on the counter: flour, eggs, chocolate chips, sugar, the whole lot. Akechi immediately took a picture of Akira frowning over them. He couldn't help but grin at the surprise in Akira's wide eyes.

“I wasn't ready,” he complained.

“I want to portray an honest scene,” said Akechi, flashing the camera a second time.

Akira shook his head. Began measuring dry ingredients into one bowl, wet ingredients into another. All the while, Akechi snapped pictures from every angle he could manage. He especially got nice shots of Akira's hands all covered in cookie batter.

“Wanna lick them?” Akira asked, smirking, wiggling his fingers.

Akechi gave him a dry look. Took another picture in response. Akira shrugged and washed his hands at the sink in the back.

“What happens if you get your dress dirty?”

“I'm being careful,” was the reply.

“Where did you even get the dress,” was Akechi's second question, but he decided not to ask it. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Some things about Akira's life were better left to the knowledge of God alone.

By the time the cookies were finally in the oven, Akira practically melted into one of the booths, his skirt splayed out around him, his headpiece abysmally askew. He certainly had no idea how to sit in a dress, what with the way his legs were spread out to either side. What a brute.

Akechi flipped through the pictures on the camera, admiring his work. Annoyingly, Akira didn't look bad. Not bad at all. His angular features were brought out by the headpiece, crooked as it was, and his pale skin looked soft and smooth against the contrast of black and white. These observations made Akechi frown. Pointless, thinking about Akira like this. He set the camera on the counter, clicked his tongue.

“So,” Akira said from the booth, “ever kiss a maid before?”

Akechi turned round to face him, arms folded across his chest.

“Oh, no. I'm not playing these games with you today.”

“Games?” asked Akira, mock innocently. “Is that all they are to you?”

“Isn't that all they are to _you_?”

Why else would Akira try so damn hard to get inside his head? To rearrange him from the inside out? It had to be a game. It had to be.

Akira's several moments of silence unsettled him. Akechi shifted on the stool, his crossed legs falling asleep.

Finally, Akira whispered, “It's not a game.” He looked up at Akechi from beneath his draping bangs, his eyes so serious, so intense, it made Akechi's skin crawl. “Not to me.”

The oven timer went off. Akira waited a moment, eyes still locked with Akechi's, before standing up and shuffling to the back of the kitchen. The smell that permeated Leblanc the moment the oven opened was sweet and full, something evoking images of a warm, loving home.

Akechi detested it, almost as much as he detested the knotting in his stomach.

Akira came out with the cookies on a plate, covered in a clear, plastic wrap. One cookie he held in his hand, and this he placed delicately against Akechi's lips. Akechi opened his mouth without thinking much about it and bit into the soft, warm treat. The sweet burst immediately across his tongue, tickled his throat. He chewed a bit, swallowed. Akira smiled at him and bit into the cookie as well.

“Indirect kiss,” he teased. “Ready to face the gang?”

Akechi looked down and to one side, refusing to meet Akira's gaze again.

“Actually,” Akechi said, “I think I'll head home. I'm feeling a little under the weather. Must be catching something.”

“You tell me this after I shared a cookie with you...?” Akira shook his head. “Want me to walk you? If you're not feeling good...”

“No, that's not necessary. Thank you.”

He tried not to think too hard about the disappointment on Akira's face. Tried not to think about what that disappointment meant, and what it did to him.

As he walked back, kicking through the rain, he wondered: If it wasn't a game, then what was it? If Akira wasn't playing with him, just as he was playing with Akira, then what was he doing? What did he expect to get out of it?

He swallowed, hard. The questions made his head hurt. He decided to file them away, and never look at them again.

 


End file.
